


Third Times The Charm

by Land_Under_Sea (ind1go_ink)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Light BDSM, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Smut, Solo, Vouyerism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 23:35:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4981135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ind1go_ink/pseuds/Land_Under_Sea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wash gets caught in a compromising situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Third Times The Charm

**Author's Note:**

> It's unfinished but I don't have the moxy to complete it. Based on ItMakesSenseInContext's Tuckington fic: A State of Undress

There was something mildly disturbing about waking a teammate who chose to sleep naked. It led to answers Wash never had questions for in the first place.

Such as ‘What does Tucker’s dick look like?’

Or even better ‘How toned can a back get?’

It also often led to some embarrassed squeaking on his part, with hands covering his abused eyes, while Tucker laughed. Two times it had happened to Wash, and he was determined for it to not happen again. The whole thing was just another minor stressor added on to his list.

 

However stress isn’t something he’s focusing on right now. Instead he’s very much focused on the slide of his palm against himself, the full feeling of a dildo holding him open, inviting, satisfying. He’s aware of the blindfold covering his eyes, his moans muffled by a makeshift gag tied across his open mouth, saliva gathering at the corners of his lips to soak into the cloth. He’s trying to block out the outside noises - Caboose cheering Freckles on, Tucker yelling for him, Sarge yelling at Grif - Wait. Tucker is yelling for him. He jerks up from his resting position, legs pulling closed instinctively. He doesn’t move, just listens intently for the sound of Tucker calling his name. He does again, and it’s too close for comfort but fades. He shifts against his bunk and the toy moves, scraping against that little bundle of nerves - he lets out a punched out gasp, hands going to grip the sheets. _So close, too close, just there, almost, just let it happen, it’s been so long I need-_ and the voice calls again, coming back. Wash rips off the blindfold, the black satin warm, and starts trying to fumble with the knot at the side of his face, teeth clenching down on the fabric, cheeks ruddy from his previous ministrations.

He desperately struggles with the knot. It seems his knotting skills are too good after an hour of edging himself, pushing himself closer and closer to desperation, driving himself crazy, _needing_ release but keeping it from himself. Growing weak and pitiful.

He hears the doorknob turn and starts mentally cursing, choosing instead to maintain his integrity by cupping his cock and balls, sitting forward on the toy, frantically ignoring the way it brushes his prostate just so and choking back the moan that strangles his throat.

“Hey, Wash I - Woah, dude.”

Tucker’s just standing in the doorway, eyes wide and jaw slack. Wash’s tries his hardest to plead with his eyes but when Tucker doesn’t move, doesn’t _do_ anything except keep his gaze firmly trained on his junk, he tries to speak around the gag, sweat beading along his hairline.

“Mmmphm!”

Tucker’s eyebrows hits his hairline as he stops looking down and actually looks Wash in the eyes.

“Dude, I had no idea you liked gags!” He crows, and Wash wants to sink into the floor, never mind the teasing gleam in Tucker’s eyes. Tucker steps forward, shutting the door behind him.

“So you’re kinky, huh?”

Wash rolls his eyes and hopes to God that it conveys his message. ‘Once you leave and I fucking _come_ I’m gonna punch you.’ Then he tries yelling.

“Mphmm MMM!”

“Dude I’m not goin’ anywhere. You got to see mine, now I should get to see yours!” Tucker exclaims, too loud. Wash’s eyes dart to his curtained hole that serves as a window. Tucker, meanwhile, tries peering around the firm shield of Wash’s hand. Wash snaps his attention back to his teammate, scowling furiously, ignoring the heat of his hand, the slick of the precum coating his palm making friction _so_ much easier. He closes off his throat to the moans and whines wanting to escape, his head foggy. If only he’d come sooner.

Tucker steps closer, and Wash rocks back but the dildo that’s quite literally balls deep in him rests firmly against his prostate and stars burst behind his eyelids at the constant pressure and the choked moan that his throat manages to slip by makes Tucker’s eyebrows rise even further.

“C’mon dude! Just one look, and then I’ll leave.”

Wash trembles under the leer. It’s strange to be so exposed but still trying to maintain his dignity. He lost his dignity when he decided fucking himself for an hour during downtime would be a good idea.

“Do it. Come.” And there’s a command in Tucker’s voice that Wash hasn’t heard before, and it makes his head cloud even more. Just what he needs when he’s foggy and desperate, an order that neither side of him can disobey.

He’s eyeing Tucker as the other sits down carefully on the end of his bed, watching Wash - No, his body. Tucker’s eyes dart up to his, a question. Wash relents, his need for release too much to ignore with the dildo firmly rubbing against his sweet spot. He rocks his hips in place, moans slipping from his throat, his hands still covering his dick and balls, but that doesn’t stop the tip from slipping against his stomach, there for Tucker, and the whole world, to see.

 


End file.
